


...but the pearls ain't free

by Leela



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Community: Happy Bertidays, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tommy gets hurt on vacation, and all of his actual next-of-kin are unavailable, Adam pretends to be his partner. Just in case. But nothing is ever that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...but the pearls ain't free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qafmaniac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qafmaniac/gifts).



> **Betas:** aislinntlc, eeyore9990  
>  **Notes:** The title comes from the lyrics to [ One Night in Bangkok](http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/chesslondon/onenightinbangkok.htm), which will make perfect sense when you read the story. Written for qafmaniac in happybertidays' inaugural fest.

Lazy and half-asleep, Adam reaches up and tugs the umbrella over a notch to get his chest back into the shade. He's still achy and hazy with the exhaustion that comes from weeks of being on the road, performing night after night, and being _on_ almost every waking hour of the day. He's so fucking glad he decided to get out of LA and rent this house on the coast for the week. 

Downtime should be downtime as far as he's concerned — no interviews, no photo shoots, no paid appearances — no matter what his management says. And absolutely no paps sticking their cameras into his face every time he tries to live his life. This is perfect: a private house with a private beach, miles from the closest town, and friends to keep him company and stop him from getting too twitchy and bored.

He pulls his earbuds out and listens. Ashley and Terrance are in the kitchen behind him, supposedly making dinner, but what they really seem to be doing is laughing and singing along to Bob Marley. 

"We'll share the shelter of my single bed," Adam sings under his breath. 

Stretching, he almost moans with the warm sleepy pleasure of the afternoon. His deep breath of salt water, sunscreen, and sweat turns into a yawn. A breeze plays over the bare skin of his arms and legs, carrying bird calls and the echoes of Tommy, Brian, and Sutan's voices over the water. They're not much more than mangled syllables that curl through Adam and draw his attention to the boat that's heading in to shore. 

Sutan's standing at the front next to Eduardo, the guy who does whatever the fuck they need him to. Tommy's talking to Brian in the back of the boat, his hands dancing through the air. Adam's sure he can see Tommy smiling in a way he really hasn't for the last couple of weeks. He's missed that smile, and he feels like hugging Brian just for bringing it back. He's just that fucking grateful for everything that Brian has done. It's been far more than Adam expected, or even hoped when he took a chance on letting that part of the world of the Zodiac Show back into his musical life. 

Lips curving up at the corners, Adam breathes in deeply, hums, and contemplates a nap before dinner.

" _Oh shit. Tommy! Fuck!_ "

Adam jolts up, bashing an elbow into the umbrella stand, and squints at the boat. He can see Brian's head, where he's crouched down, Sutan making his way towards him, and Eduardo glancing back over his shoulder repeatedly as they speed towards the dock. What he can't see is Tommy.

His heart thumping, phone in hand, Adam races down the sloping grass towards the water. By the time he gets there, Eduardo is tying the boat off and Sutan is hovering over Brian, who is disembarking with Tommy in his arms. 

There's blood, way too much blood, and Tommy's not objecting to being carried. 

"Oh my god," Ashley cries. 

"911 says thirty minutes, at least, to get their asses out here." Terrance is standing just behind Adam, phone up to his ear. 

"Driving is much faster," Eduardo says. "I know the way." 

Glancing at Tommy, at the slow drip of blood down the side of his face, Adam nods. "Let's go then."

"Shoes," Ashley says, and takes off for the house.

Eduardo runs for the car. Adam and the others follow as carefully and as quickly as they can.

*

Tommy's half-lying sideways in the middle seat of the van, his back against Brian, facing Ashley. His head is fucking killing him. Everything's blurring at the edges, but he just fucking refuses to give in again. He reaches up a hand to his forehead, but Ashley grabs at it before he can touch whatever Brian's pressing against it.

"Leave it alone," she says. "The cut is still bleeding, and you don't want to make it any worse."

If he could, Tommy would stick out his tongue at her, but he has a nasty feeling that would make him feel even sicker. So he mutters, "Okay," pretty damn ungraciously even for him in one of his worst moods. 

What he wants is Adam, one of his hugs and his solid reassurance, but Adam's up in the front seat, twisted around and looking all creased and worried as shit. That just makes Tommy want to reassure him and give him a hug to make him feel better. A kiss maybe even, like that one night in Bangkok. 

The chords from the stupid song go through Tommy's mind just from thinking the words, as the van jolts over a pothole, and bile rises in his throat.

"'M gonna throw up." Tommy swallows hard, feeling all grey and desperate as he gags and tries to hold it down. He fucking hates throwing up. 

"Somebody open a window." 

At Adam's request, Brian rolls down one window and Sutan leans forward from the back seat and presses the button to lower the one on the other side. The breeze is warm and doesn't do a damn thing to help.

Tommy gags again and grabs for the small garbage can that Ashley puts in his lap. 

Her hands are trembling, but she sounds composed. "Use this," she says, and then holds his hair off his face as he throws up. She's almost unbearably gentle, so careful that he can barely feel her touch.

It sounds awful, smells even worse, and all it does is make Tommy even more sick, until he's pretty damn sure that his toenails got into the act. 

He catches Adam closing his eyes and turning away, and he wants to apologize for fucking up everyone's vacation, to tell Adam that it's not his fault, but he can't talk right now. Not when he's finally stopped throwing up. 

"Stop blaming yourself, boo," Terrance's voice carries from the back, saying the words for Tommy. "You weren't there, and you probably couldn't have stopped it if you were."

Adam turns around again, clearly ready to deny it, but Brian gets there first. "It was a stupid fucking accident. Not anyone's fault. We hit a wave just as Tommy stood up and he lost his balance. Hit his head on one of those fucking metal hand bars."

"Is that—" Tommy has to stop talking, so he can grab the can and throw up again. He fucking hates this shit. Hates it. Hates it. Hates it.

And when he's done with that, Eduardo is turning the corner into the hospital driveway and heading for the ER entrance. As soon as the van stops, Adam's right there, pulling the back door open and holding his arms out. "Give him to me," he says.

"Fuck off," Tommy mutters. He's so fucking not letting anyone carry him like that again, not even Adam. Not in public at least. "I can walk by myself, and if you try to carry me, I'll kick you in the balls." But he doesn't object when Adam wraps an arm around his waist. Instead, he slides one of his own arms around Adam's waist and leans against him, letting Adam take some of his weight while they walk through the entrance doors with the others trailing behind. 

At the front desk, the clerk's bored expression disappears when she sees them. "Did he lose consciousness?"

"Once," Adam says. "And he's been throwing up."

"And he can talk for himself," Tommy says, because really, he can. 

There are more questions after that, and Tommy answers as best he can, with the others interrupting constantly. A guy comes over and takes Tommy from Adam. And then Tommy's by himself in a room, all alone, with a doctor poking and prodding at him, his head fucking pounding, and wondering why the fuck Adam hadn't come with.

*

"I need to be with him." Adam tries to push past the guy, but he's bigger than Adam and he just stands there.

"Not right now, you don't," the guy says. "You need to check your friend in and make sure that we have his insurance info."

Adam shakes his head and makes another attempt to get through the doors. "You don't fucking understand. That's Tommy in there, and he needs me."

"Yeah," the guy says, "I get it. If it were my boyfriend, I'd want to be there as well. But that doesn't change the fact that you can't go back there right now."

Before Adam can throw a fit, Sutan grabs his arm and drags him over to the desk where Ashley is filling out the forms. 

"Help her," Sutan orders, and then he goes back over to join Terrance and Brian, who's answering questions about the accident.

"I assume Tommy has tour insurance," Ashley says. "Like the rest of us."

"Yeah. Should be the same as yours but with his social security number." Ashley gives him an odd look, but doesn't say anything when Adam's able to rattle off Tommy's social security number from memory.

The next few questions on the form are pretty easy, until they reach next-of-kin. 

Ashley asks, "Are his mom and sister back from the cruise yet?" 

"Not for another few days at least." Adam runs his hand over the back of his neck. He doesn't know what the fuck to do. There's not much point in giving Dia or Lisa's contact information if they can't be reached. He looks down at the form, taps a finger next to the line. "Just put my name down." 

"I have to list your relationship." 

The ache behind Adam's breastbone tightens, and he swallows hard. It's a medical form, he reminds himself. It should stay private. "Put down partner," he says. "In case someone needs to make a decision for him. Hopefully they won't ask for proof if he—" Adam breaks off, because he just can't go there. Not with Tommy. It's just not fucking allowed to happen.

"You think it'll come to that?" Ashley's whisper breaks into Adam's thoughts.

The fear in her eyes is too much for Adam. He pulls her into a hug. "No, baby, I don't. Tommy's going to be okay, I promise." And he believes that. He really really does. 

"Adam Lambert? You're Mr. Ratliff's partner?" There's no judgment in the clerk's voice or recognition, for which Adam is grateful. 

"Yes." Adam sits down in one of the chairs across from her. He makes a shooing gesture at Ashley, sending her over to the others.

The clerk talks very little as she slides a series of forms over to him. He signs all of them, even the one where he agrees to cover Tommy's hospital bills in the event that Tommy can't afford them, because he would anyway, even though Tommy will throw a shit-fit over him doing it.

When that's over, she says, "I'll check and see if you can go back there." 

"You'll check? What do you mean? I need to be with him."

"It's not that simple, sir." 

"It's not—" Adam cuts himself off before he completely loses it and glares at her. 

"They have to talk to Mr. Ratliff first. Make sure he wants you there."

"Wants me? Why the fuck wouldn't Tommy want me there?" Adam quiets down as he says the last few words and the answer comes to him. A sick feeling rises in his stomach. "I wouldn't," he says. "You have to believe that."

"It's just procedure, sir. Nothing personal." 

Except it is fucking personal when they're accusing him of doing that to Tommy, even if Tommy really isn't his partner. Gritting his teeth, Adam concentrates on not yelling at her as he stands up. It's procedure, he tells himself, and there for a good reason. That doesn't really help though, so he goes over and joins the others, leaning his head on Sutan's shoulder and accepting his hug when it's offered.

"We have to wait," he says, answering their unspoken questions. "They need to check on Tommy and—" he twists his lips in distaste "—make sure he wants me there."

Everyone protests except Terrance who just nods. "Makes sense, boo. Too many assholes thinking with their fists out there." 

"Someone's always gotta be fucking things up for the rest of us," Brian growls. "They should just believe me when I told them you weren't there."

"And confirm that with Tommy as well, I'm sure." Adam shrugs. "Nothing we can do about it." He glances around and spies a group of chairs set off to one side. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait." 

They settle down with the others surrounding Adam. He slouches down in an attempt to feel less noticeable. The few other people in the room seem to be focused on their own problems, however, so he pulls out his phone and checks his @replies on Twitter. No one seems to have picked up the accident yet; he breathes a sigh of relief.

What feels like forever later, but which is more like forty-five minutes, they're still waiting and any patience Adam ever had is long gone. Ashley and Terrance have each gone up to ask about Tommy once, only to be turned away with a "We'll call you when there's news." 

Finally, when Adam's about to go over and harass the clerk himself, she calls out, "Mr. Lambert! Adam Lambert!"

Murmurs rise up around him, and he hears people repeating his name as he walks over there. It's too late to do anything but ignore them, and silently curse the damn clerk. "Is Tommy okay?"

She smiles at him and points to the double doors. "Why don't you go through there and see Mr. Ratliff for yourself."

"Thanks." Adam smiles back at her, and then he strides off and pushes through to the corridor beyond. It's lined with rooms that have curtains pulled across them. A male nurse points him toward one in the middle, and Adam heads for it.

Tommy's lying on the bed, looking pale. Someone's cleaned up the blood, and his hair's been clipped back off his face to expose a cut up near the hairline. Black stitches stand out against his pale skin. "Hey," he says.

"Hey." Adam can only look at him, can't move from where he's standing. "Sorry you were alone for so long." 

"They're fucking idiots, but they mean well."

There's an awkwardness between them that Adam can't bear but doesn't know how to break. "It's a good thing, I guess, if someone is being abused," he says, repeating what Terrance said to him, because he hasn't a fucking clue what else to say.

"Yeah." Tommy reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, then drops his hand back down. He bites his lip and looks up at Adam through his eyelashes. "This is fucking stupid," he says. "Get your ass over here, _partner_."

Adam can feel his face heating. "Sorry about that. They needed a next of kin and your mom and Lisa are out of town and—"

"It's okay," Tommy says, but Adam can't really tell if it is.

He doesn't get any time to ask either, because the doctor comes into the room followed by a nurse. There are aftercare instructions that Adam needs to understand, and Tommy's bitching about being able to take care of himself to ignore. Then they're being taken out down a series of identical corridors and through another set of doors, because apparently people have figured out that Adam's in the hospital.

*

Tommy knows he's being a dick, but he doesn't give a shit. He feels like ass, his head is still pounding, and he just wants to be left alone to wallow in his misery. Even more than that, he doesn't want his friends worrying about him.

Sticking out his lower lip in the pout that usually gets him what he wants, he says, "I don't need a babysitter." 

"You really don't want me to answer that," Adam replies, clearly trying not to smile, the bastard. He's curled up at the far end of the long couch that Tommy's lying on, one leg curled up underneath him. 

"I've got my phone. I can set it to wake me up every couple of hours." 

"And if you don't wake up? How's your phone going to get help?"

Tommy flips Adam off, but it's only half-hearted and as much a surrender as anything else. He settles back against the pillows they brought into the living room from his bedroom. 

"Dinner in a few minutes," Terrance pokes his head into the living room. "We're having it picnic style in here. No arguments allowed." And then he heads back to the kitchen where the others have been hiding out since Tommy started arguing with Adam over the care instructions. 

"Cowards," Tommy says, and Adam laughs. It's almost a giggle, and Tommy can't stop one corner of his mouth from curling up. "Well, they are."

"Either that or they're smarter than me." 

This time Tommy laughs, because Adam's so full of shit, but that sets his head off again. He reaches up and his fingers brush against the gauze that's taped over the stitches. Wincing, he pulls his hand back down and clenches it in his lap. He really is going to have to fucking take something for the headache, and that sucks. 

"Besides, you can't have your phone."

"What?"

Adam brandishes the sheet of paper that the doctor handed him. "No TV. No video games. No texting. Nothing that requires concentration for at least twenty-four hours."

"No fucking way. Gimme that." Tommy holds out his hand, but Adam shakes his head. 

"Nope. No reading either."

"That is totally fucked up, dude. What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Sleep?"

Tommy snorts. "As if. I have enough problems with that at the best of times."

"My vayvee can watch whatever he wants on that big ass TV," Sutan says, coming into the room, carrying a tray full of dishes. He places it on the coffee table and heads back to the kitchen, stopping at the doorway to strike a pose. "The crap he watches does not require any kind of concentration."

"See," Tommy says, triumphantly. "Somebody loves me."

The flash of hurt in Adam's eyes almost makes him regret saying it, but those rules are all kind of bullshit. He can't believe Adam is taking them so damn seriously. When Adam doesn't say anything, just stares down at the instruction sheet, Tommy sighs. He's such a fucking pushover sometimes. He pokes Adam with his foot. "Twenty-four hours, okay? But I get to watch TV, and you have to tell Twitter that I'm okay, because those fans are probably all freaking out by now."

"Oh shit." Adam tosses the paper onto the coffee table and lifts up his ass so he can dig out his phone. "I didn't even think about that. Someone would have tweeted about us being in that hospital by now."

"Yeah. No fucking privacy, even in a hospital." Tommy makes a face. "Just don't check your @ replies. You know what some of them will be like." Then, because he knows Adam, he adds, "And tell me what you're saying, because I'm gonna have to deal with the fallout when I get my phone back."

Adam sighs and makes his put-upon face, but he recites in a sing-song voice, "Tommy wants me to tell you he's fine. Thanks for the good wishes folks. It means a lot. He should be back online soon." Then looking up, he asks, "Any complaints from the peanut gallery?"

"Asshole," Tommy says, but he's too amused to put any heat behind it.

"And it's sent." 

They're quiet for a while after that. Tommy slides even further down, until his feet are pressing against Adam's thigh. Adam turns around, bringing both of Tommy's feet into his lap, and starts to rub them. It's glorious and peaceful and just about the best fucking thing ever. He moans with the pleasure of it and wriggles his toes. 

Adam gives him that smile, the one that the fans rarely get to see, and Tommy smiles back at him. He'll worry about his headache later, after dinner, he decides, and closes his eyes.

*

Adam's about to take a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich — back to his diet tomorrow when he doesn't need comfort food — but stops when his phone rings. With _that_ ringtone, the one he reserves for business calls that he has to take. He puts the sandwich down, scrubs his hand over the bit of paper towel he was given as a napkin. Then, when he's sure his thumb's no longer coated in grease, he swipes it over his phone and answers without looking to see who's calling. "Yeah?"

"Did you forget to tell me something?" Dana sounds somewhere between exasperated and resigned. "Like maybe you picked up a partner in the last few days. Or did you have one before that?"

Adam can't help glancing up at Tommy, who's looking at him curiously. He shrugs, giving Tommy an _I have no idea_ look, and says, "Hello to you too, Dana."

"You didn't look at Twitter when you tweeted, did you?"

"Hell no. I didn't want to know what some of them were saying about Tommy getting hurt."

Dana's sigh crackles and hisses with interference. "Apparently there was a reporter for some small town newspaper in that ER waiting room, and AP picked up his story about Adam Lambert bringing in his injured _partner_ and guitarist."

"Oh shit." Adam sits back against the cushions. His free hand clenches and unclenches. He ignores the poke of Tommy's foot and all the questions coming from the others. "It was a hospital. What the fuck happened to privacy?"

"It doesn't cover your personal relationship," Dana says. "Apparently the reporter asked what was going on, and the hospital clerk said that she couldn't tell him what Mr. Ratliff or his partner, Mr. Lambert, were there for."

Adam groans. "Wonderful."

"Tell me that you and Tommy are really partners, Adam. Tell me that you just forgot to inform your management of this important change in your personal life."

Before Adam could respond, Tommy is pulling the phone away from him. Surprised, Adam just lets it go.

"Hey, Dana, this is Tommy."

There's a pause and then Tommy says, "Look, we weren't expecting anyone to pick up on that. Give us some time to finish dinner and get used to the idea, then we'll call you back, okay?" After a few seconds, Tommy responds, "Feel like shit, man, but thanks for asking."

Tommy disconnects the call before handing the phone back. Adam stares down at it and then up at Tommy. He should say something, but he's damned if he can think of a single thing.

"Eat." Ashley picks up Adam's plate and offers it to him. "No one's doing any talking until after we've finished dinner." She glares at Tommy. "And that includes you, Tommy."

"Yes, Mom." Tommy rolls his eyes at her, wincing while he does it, but he drinks a spoonful of tomato soup obediently. 

Adam has to stifle a grin, because they're like little kids sometimes. Siblings from different mothers to hear Ashley describe it. 

The peace and the eating last until Adam's done with his sandwich and Terrance says, "What's up?"

"Fucking reporters." Tommy slurps his soup, loudly and deliberately. "Can't keep their fucking noses out of Adam's business."

"Adam's..." Clearly confused, Terrance doesn't finish his sentence.

"The partner thing." Ashley doesn't even make it a question.

"Partner thing? And you didn't talk to me first?" Pressing a hand against his breast, Sutan mock swoons. "I'm beyond devastated, I tell you. Utterly destroyed by your lack of concern for his life partner, never mind the proprieties." 

Tommy sniggers and then says, "Ow fuck. Do _not_ make me laugh again, asshole. It fucking hurts."

That has Sutan murmuring an apology and everyone checking in with Tommy to see if he needs anything. Until Brian asks, "You okay, Adam?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I just... I didn't expect..." Just trying to say it out loud has Adam's brain freezing up again. He's so fucked. There were a hundred ways he could have handled things better. What the hell was he thinking? _Tommy_ , he realizes. _You were thinking about Tommy, wanting to take care of him_.

Tommy's leg moves under Adam's hand, getting his attention. "Hey."

"Hey," Adam says. 

"We'll leave you alone," Brian says, as he stacks plates on a tray.

Terrance gives him a hard look. "You need to talk, boo."

"Just let us know when you're done," Ashley says. "We've still got three more episodes of Breaking Bad left."

Sutan doesn't say anything at all. He comes over and gives Adam and Tommy each a kiss before sashaying out of the room with a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Then there's no one else in the room but the two of them and Adam can't raise his head to look Tommy in the eyes.

"You're an ass," Tommy says, and Adam's head jerks up despite himself. 

"I'm sorry." And he is. Not for what he did, because he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. But for fucking this up, whatever this is between them, because they've been happy in the past year, content with the friendship they've created. Or whatever it is, because that kiss in Bangkok—

"Hey!" This time Tommy kicks him lightly. "Don't you fucking dare apologize."

For the first time in a long time, Adam can't read Tommy's expression or his body language. Maybe it's just because Tommy's head is hurting, but Adam feels shut out and like he can't fucking do anything right. "Fine," he says. "I won't fucking apologize."

They're still glaring at each other when Sutan's voice floats out of the kitchen. "Talk, darlings, or I'll have to go in there and flog your sweet asses until you do." 

"Promises, promises," Adam calls back. 

Tommy snickers and then closes his eyes briefly. "Fuck that hurts." He slides down into the pillows again. The soles of his feet are warm against Adam's thigh.

Adam brings a hand up and rubs them over the tops of Tommy's feet. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits, "but I can't talk about it tonight, even though we probably need to. I'm going to force myself to take something for this damn headache and then I want to watch a TV show that I've seen a hundred times before and fall asleep so you can wake me up and feel like you're helping."

"Sounds amazing," Adam says, because it does, "but Dana's not going to let this one slide."

"Call him then. Tell him that we're partners, and let him take care of things until we're done with this vacation and ready to face the world again."

Something catches in Adam's chest, something that feels like hope. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Lambert. Go for it."

Before Adam can say anything else, Tommy reaches over his head for the remote and clicks the TV on. The others filter in. Sutan brings in the remains of an apple pie, Brian has the teapot, and Ashley and Terrance have mugs, plates, and cutlery. They're eating and laughing, and Tommy's dozing, when Adam's phone rings again. He swipes it on and heads for his bedroom as he starts to answer Dana's questions.

*

The days after the accident pass in a haze of headache, painkillers, sleepiness, lounging around on the couch and in bed. Not that he was able to enjoy it, thanks to the well-meaning assholes who called themselves his friends waking him up and interrupting him every few hours to clean his wound, change the dressing, make sure he's following the rules and taking care of himself. You'd think he was still five years old or some shit.

On the fourth day, Tommy wakes up on his own after a restless night. He blinks against the dim light that's making its way past the blinds and rolls over onto his back. As he does every morning, he yawns and scratches his belly, tugging lightly on the short and curlies just above the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He stretches, arches his back, and presses his head against the pillow, listening to his neck and spine crack. 

Then he sits upright, eyes wide open, more awake than he has been since the accident. He turns his head carefully, reaches up and touches the area around the gauze and tape, presses lightly on the skin. And he smiles, because he fucking well doesn't have a headache. 

"Oh... hell... _yeah!_ " He gets up out of bed and heads for the bathroom, grabbing his sunglasses off the bedside table. Everyone else has this fucking thing for opening the blinds and letting in the sunlight, which wouldn't be a big deal except Tommy's eyes have been even more light-sensitive over the past few days. Sucks, but at least it's easily fixed with sunglasses.

Peeling off the gauze as carefully as he can, he pulls his hair back and stares at his stitches in the mirror. They're black and ugly, the skin is still red and a bit swollen around them, and they itch like a motherfucker. The scar's going to look like shit on stage, and his hair's going to look even shittier as the roots grow in. Who the fuck knows when he can color it again? He's going to have to ask his doctor when he goes to get the stitches out. 

The shower is hot, and he's careful to keep the water away from the healing wound as much as he can, but he's not perfect about it. There's fucking water and it's warm, and there's no one in there with him to nag him. It's a small piece of ecstasy, and if he wasn't worried about his headache coming back, he'd totally be jerking off right now. 

_Totally!_ Tommy palms his dick, soft and slow, giving it almost no pressure. His instincts are telling him 'not yet' though, so he lets it go and turns around to let the water land on his neck and shoulders. The water pressure is too low for a real pounding, but it feels so fucking good that he groans with the pleasure of it.

When he gets out, Adam's perched on the counter. He's got a flush on his cheeks and a towel in his hands that he thrusts at Tommy. 

"No headache, man," Tommy says with a grin. He takes the towel and uses it on his hair first, because he's just that kind of fucker. 

Adam's intake of breath is sharp and audible, and when Tommy looks up at him, his gaze is so intense, so heated that Tommy can almost feel it on his skin. Adam shifts on the counter, and Tommy can't help glancing at his dick. It's thicker, half-hard, and has Tommy licking his lips. He's fucked around with guys before, given blow jobs and hand jobs, but never with anyone he cares about. He saved that for women until now, for their softness and the way they feel, the way they come apart under his hands. And fuck if he doesn't want to know how Adam feels when that happens. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Tommy takes a step towards Adam. They should talk, he knows it, but he hasn't a fucking clue how to even start that shit. He rubs his palms over the soft cotton. He's not up to a blow job, but a hand job, that he can do. 

Adam stays silent, doesn't take his eyes off him, but he spreads his legs wide enough for Tommy to stand between them. 

Tommy places a hand on each of Adam's thighs, leans forward.

And there's a knock on the door, not a loud one, but enough to get their attention away from each other. "Hey," Brian calls out. "Breakfast is ready. And Sutan says to tell you that if you don't get your skinny asses out to the terrace, he'll drink your mimosas too."

Tommy sags against Adam's chest. The worn cotton of his t-shirt is soft against Tommy's skin. He slides his arms around Adam's waist and just enjoys the closeness as he's held. 

"We should go," Adam murmurs, his lips warm against Tommy's temple. "Sutan never makes idle threats."

"As long as I get a mimosa," Tommy says. "I've been too fucking good for days."

Adam leans back and examines Tommy. He brushes a gentle hand over Tommy's hair, ghosts a touch over the skin beneath the stitches. "No headache?"

"Nope." Tommy places a finger on Adam's lips to stop his objection. "I'll be careful. I promise. No stupid chances. You can even do the overgrown puppy thing and follow me around again, if it makes you feel better."

"You are such a fucking asshole sometimes." 

The amusement and relief threading through Adam's voice make Tommy give him a hug instead of a punch in the arm. When he pulls away, he says, "Come on. We better get going before Sutan shows up to kick our asses out to the table."

"Yeah." Adam doesn't move. He runs his hand down Tommy's arm and holds on to Tommy's hand. "We need to talk though."

"And we will, but not on an empty stomach." Tommy says it like a promise, and then he rises up on his toes to brush his lips over Adam's. "Now get out of here, so I can get dressed." He pushes away and is relieved and a little disappointed when Adam lets him go. He waits until Adam's at the door before adding, "And save me a mimosa. I need the vitamin C."

Adam's laughter follows him into the bedroom.

*

"Oh my god, why did I let you talk me into this?" Adam stares out the van window at the crowds thronging around the stalls. "We're going to be swamped."

"Girl, no one is going to be looking at you. They're going to be blinded by the gorgeousness surrounding you." Sutan bats his false eyelashes at Adam. They're long and ridiculous, and might shock some of the locals, but he's at least matched his heeled sandals with jeans and a long tunic, rather than the dress he'd first proposed. 

"Maybe Adam's right," Ashley says. "Maybe we should have stayed back at the house."

"No way, bitches. We are going to blaze a trail with our fierceness through these local yokels and show them what they're missing. Besides, I haven't been shopping in almost two weeks, and you know how I get."

"Please, boo, we have to go shopping," Terrance says. "I still get nightmares from sharing a bus with Sutan as we travelled through Kansas."

Adam knows how this will go. There'll be pictures of the two of them posted to Twitter and Tumblr and who the fuck knows where else, not to mention questions that they don't really know how to answer because they haven't fucking _talked_ yet.

"Kansas," Tommy says, "and Missouri."

"I know, but..." Adam raises his eyebrows at Tommy, who gives him a single raised eyebrow and a careful nod that's both a response and a challenge. And if Tommy's up for it— "Fine. But we're leaving if it gets too bad," Adam says.

When they're all out of the van, Eduardo catches Adam's attention. He points to an old house just off to the right. "I will be at the coffee shop when you are ready to leave. You can call me or come get me, yes?"

"No more than two hours," Adam says.

"That's barely enough time to get started," Sutan says, but when Adam gives Tommy's back a meaningful glance, Sutan rolls his eyes and heaves a long-suffering sigh. "But I'm sure we can manage to find _something_."

"Life is so hard sometimes." Adam smirks at Sutan.

"If we're very very lucky boys." Sutan blows a kiss at Adam. "Speaking of, you should go get your boy and let the rest of us take care of ourselves."

Laughing, Adam goes to get Tommy and they follow Sutan and Ashley towards the aisle on the right. Terrance and Brian are behind them at first, but split off halfway down the aisle when Brian wants to go look at a metalworker's stall. 

They're on the second aisle, as Adam's paying for a handmade leather cuff, and Sutan and Ashley are holding up long sparkly earrings for each other's opinion, when Adam notices that Tommy is huddling in the meager shade provided by the tent, squinting against the sunlight, and shading his eyes with one hand.

As soon as he's got his change tucked away, Adam goes over to him. "You need a hat."

"I hate hats," Tommy says, but all Adam can see is the line of his lips, pressed tight, and how careful he is when he moves.

"For me," Adam says, "because I don't want you to be telling me 'not tonight dear, I have a headache' when I want to talk."

Tommy's mouth curls up on one side into an almost smile. "Talk? Is that what the cool dudes are calling it these days?"

Adam refuses to let himself be side-tracked, something that Tommy's an expert at doing. "A hat," he says. "Even if you only wear it this one afternoon." Then, to make a point, he places his hand on top of Tommy's and moves so that he's blocking the sun. Tommy's sigh of relief, and the relaxing of the faint tension in his body, makes his argument for him.

"Okay, but only for this afternoon. And it needs to be soft, so it doesn't hurt my forehead, and not a fucking ugly piece of shit."

"I accept that challenge." Sutan gives them a half-bow, half-curtsey. Then he tucks an arm through Tommy's. "Come, my darlings, let us be off in search of the perfect hat for my vayvee."

Snickering, Adam offers his arm to Ashley and they wind through the crowds in a mini-parade. He vaguely notices a couple of cell phones aimed towards them, but decides to ignore them. 

The first booth with hats is all baseball caps, which Tommy rejects without even going in. The second is more of a tent that they walk inside, and it has some seriously interesting handmade straw hats, dyed in wild colors and decorated with ribbons and other accessories. 

"Oh my god," Sutan says, holding up a cloche wreathed in rhinestone-studded veiling, "this is perfect." 

"For you." Tommy wrinkles his nose. "I'd look like a fucking idiot."

"Your loss, darling." 

"Totally not, but whatever." 

Ashley laughs and tosses Tommy a wide-brimmed black fedora decorated with black ribbon and silver skulls. "How about this one?"

"Now that's fucking perfect." Tommy moves in front of a mirror and tries it on. Then pulls it off. "Or it would be if it wasn't so fucking prickly." He reaches up to rub at his forehead, and Adam catches his hand.

"Yeah, yeah," Tommy says, before Adam can open his mouth. "I know. No scratching."

"I can line it for you." The stall owner has his long red hair tied back in a braid, and a tie-dyed cowboy hat pushed back on his forehead. "I've got this cotton flannel that would be perfect. I can do it right here. It would just take a few minutes."

Tommy looks at the hat so wistfully that Adam asks, "Can we test it first? Make sure it won't hurt too?"

The cotton is soft, and the smile on Tommy's face makes Adam want to kiss him. He settles for tucking Tommy under his arm, settling his hand on Tommy's waist, as they wait for the stall owner, Guy, to cut and stitch in the lining. 

By the time Tommy's hat is ready, Sutan has picked out two hats and Ashley one, and a small group is standing just outside the booth. They're whispering among themselves and occasionally taking pictures, but no one tries to approach them.

"Looks like we've been found," Ashley says.

"Took them long enough." Tommy shifts a little closer to Adam and leans against him.

"Oh my god, just look at them." It's a woman's voice, but Adam's damned if he can tell who's speaking. Then, as if that's a signal, they start talking in normal voices, about Adam and Tommy, about Ashley and even Sutan. 

"I can see his stitches. Oh no, I hope Tommy's okay." 

Adam bends down so his mouth is close to Tommy's ear. "You want to give autographs, let the fans know you're fine?"

He can feel the shiver run through Tommy's slight frame, but isn't surprised when Tommy says, "Yeah, sure."

Ten minutes later, Tommy has the hat on his head, Sutan and Ashley have both added another bag to their collection, and they walk out of the booth towards the fans. The reaction is immediate.

"Adam, can I have an autograph?"

"Adam, I'd love a picture with you."

"Tommy, are you okay? I heard you got hurt?"

"Ashley, what's it like playing with Adam and Tommy?"

Adam smiles, poses for pictures, and signs whatever they thrust in front of him — after making sure it isn't something offensive. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy giving a teenage girl a hug and wincing at her squeal of excitement. 

Eventually, though, an older woman asks, "Are you guys really together this time?"

It's the _this time_ that gets to Adam and steals all the words from his brain except _I don't know_ and _we haven't talked yet_. But while he's trying to come up with some kind of response, Tommy slides under his arm, somehow managing not to knock his hat off. 

"It's new," Tommy says. "Us being together, you know. We would have let you guys know eventually, when we were ready." 

"Well, I think it's great," the fan says, then she waves her camera. "Can I take a picture of you both?"

"Yeah, sure," Tommy says, at the same time Adam says, "Of course." 

Others horn in on it, taking their own pictures, as usual, but Adam smiles for the fan who asked. Tommy's hand is curled in Adam's back pocket, his side is warm against Adam's, and his smile is real and open in ways it isn't very often.

Getting away from the fans involves a few more pictures, including ones with Ashley and Sutan, and promises, on Tommy's part, to tweet as soon as he's allowed to text again. Some follow them at a distance, far enough away to be easily ignored. 

"There'll be a list of everything we buy," Tommy says. "And some of them will probably run around, trying to buy the exact same stuff."

"Good thing your hat's one of a kind then." Adam nudges him and gets a tired smile in response. But his comment gets Adam thinking, because Tommy's right, the fans will take notice of everything they buy. So when they run into Terrance and Brian, looking at silver jewelry, Adam buys a funky dragon bracelet that fits Tommy's wrist perfectly. 

And the kiss Tommy gives him along with his thank you is only a sedate press of their lips, but it's off-stage and in public, in front of fans, and the knot of worry that Adam's been carrying around with him for the last few days, since Dana's phone call, starts to loosen.

*

After the shopping trip, Tommy retreats to his room and only heads out when he's sure that he won't end up alone with Adam. It's not that he's avoiding The Talk, which has somehow gained capital letters in his head; he's just really fucking awful at that shit as everyone in his family and every single one of his ex-girlfriends would be happy to tell anyone and everyone who dares to ask them.

He tries hard though, that's the thing. He's worked at every fucking relationship he's ever had, given as much as he's been able, and it's never been enough. 

So he wastes hours on the internet, watching videos and chasing down oddments of music and information, with an occasional tweet to poke the fan fishbowl. He also texts with Mia and Mike, letting them soothe him into believing that he can do this shit with Adam without fucking everything up.

The next morning, the last full day of their vacation, Tommy wakes up to Adam lying on the bed next to him. He closes his eyes, tries to pretend that he's still asleep, but it's too damn late.

"I know you're awake," Adam says, sliding closer and pulling Tommy into his arms. 

They do whatever it is when you're not snuggling — because Tommy does not fucking snuggle either, just ask his ex-girlfriends — for a few minutes. Then, just as Tommy's starting to relax again, half-sprawled over Adam, with his head on Adam's shoulder and Adam's arms around him, everything gets too damn fucking serious for this early in the morning.

"We're going to talk," Adam says. "You and me, right now."

"It's only—" Raising his head, Tommy checks the clock and groans "—ten-fucking-thirty. Can't I wake up first?"

"Yeah, you can, but we're doing it this morning. And, before you think you can get away from me, everyone else has gone out on the boat and won't be back for at least a couple of hours."

"Great," Tommy says. "But I want breakfast and, like, a chance to take a piss."

Adam doesn't argue, which has Tommy wrinkling his forehead and then wincing as that pulls on the stitches. He can't fucking wait to get home and get them removed. 

As if he's reading Tommy's mind, Adam says, "The doctor called an hour ago. He's going to come out to the house this afternoon. Apparently the hospital doesn't want another _scene_ ," Adam makes air quotes, "in their ER."

"Hey, if it gets me a house call..." Tommy trails off. Even he doesn't think it's that funny. He yawns, scratches at his chest, and glances at the door. "Gimme five minutes, okay?"

"Ten, and I'll bring breakfast with me."

As he walks past, Tommy rises up on his toes and presses a kiss to Adam's mouth. He can feel the moment when Adam wants to stop him, to pull him close, and turn it into more. The fact that Adam doesn't, that he resists and steps aside with a smile, is so fucking special Tommy can hardly stand it. 

Exactly ten minutes later, after Tommy has taken care of business, changed from pajamas into sweatpants and a t-shirt, and texted Mia — who's fucking still asleep, the bitch — Adam comes back with a tray. Ignoring the healthy breakfast shit, Tommy grabs for a mug of tea. It's not as good as coffee, never will be, but it doesn't make him jittery either. He figures the trade-off will be worth it, until it's not anymore. Probably somewhere in the middle of the European leg of the tour, around the time they reach Italy and he smells the espresso.

He settles down Indian style, sips his tea, and waits. Adam doesn't bother with tea, even though he brought a mug for himself. Instead, he walks over to the window, pries open the blinds, and then closes them again with a guilty look on his face when Tommy protests. 

"Sorry." Adam goes over to the dresser, picks up Tommy's deodorant stick, puts it down again, and then paces back over to the window. Back and forth three times before he starts talking.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat, you know, because there wasn't anybody else to do it for you. So I'm not going to apologize for that. But I don't want you to feel like you're getting pushed into a corner by my fuck-up. We can pretend to be partners for a while then quietly break up. It's not like anyone expects me to have a lasting relationship these days."

Tommy stops listening to Adam's words. They're stupid anyway, and he's obviously been rehearsing them. Instead, he watches Adam's changing expressions, the light that comes and goes from his eyes, the way he waves his hands around, the movement of his lips. He's so fucked up for the guy that he can't believe he didn't realize it sooner.

At some point, Adam stops talking and moving. He's got that waiting look on his face, and he's tugging and twisting his rings. Tommy wants to say something, wants to find the right words to make Adam understand, but all he's got is one image, one feeling of Adam's lips, Adam's body against his. 

"Bangkok," Tommy blurts out.

"What?"

"That one night. In Bangkok," Tommy says. "And don't you fucking sing that goddamn song." 

"All right." Adam says it slowly, like he's afraid to set Tommy off. 

"Oh just... fuck you." Shoving his mug on the bedside table, Tommy gets up and goes over to Adam. "Bangkok. This. I want it." And then he loops his arms around Adam's neck, pulls his head down, and kisses him. 

They stay there like that for too long, until Adam finally gets with the fucking program and opens his mouth and licks at Tommy's lips. Then Adam's hands slide down Tommy's back, find his tiny ass, and squeeze. It's a goddamn electric current going through Tommy, from his mouth to his ass to his dick, and even his fucking toes. 

Clutching at Adam, Tommy bites at Adam's lips, sucks on his tongue. He gets one hand down to Adam's ass, digs his fingers into the solid muscle there, and just fucking rubs against him like a cat. 

When they stop, when Tommy's hard as a fucking rock and he can feel Adam's dick trying to poke a hole in his belly, Adam curves his hands under Tommy's ass and presses their hips even closer.

"Bangkok," Adam says, with a smile that just lights up his everything.

"Yeah, and not just for one night." 

"What if we—" 

Tommy kisses the rest of that sentence off Adam's lips. 

"Okay, we can try." 

"I'm gonna fuck up," Tommy says, because he needs to get it out there. "I'm a shitty boyfriend."

"Apparently so am I."

"That's bullshit."

"I get caught up in my career, disappear for months on end."

"I disappear into my room, head out on the road with this obsessed singer for months on end."

"I'll talk too much about all the wrong things."

"I won't talk enough about anything, right or wrong."

"I like to go out to clubs and dance and party all night."

"I love drinking in the kind of dive bars that make you want to spray everything with disinfectant."

"I have to give interviews and do red carpet shit."

"You'll drag me along, and I'll hate it and force you to make it up to me with lots of sex or something like that."

Adam laughs and hugs him, and Tommy can't help but curl into him. He's not quite clinging, but he's still half-convinced that they'll fuck this up and then he'll lose everything.

"Don't kick me out of the band." He knows he sounds pitiful, but he just couldn't fucking bear that.

"I stay friends with my ex-boyfriends," Adam says, with a rueful twist of his lips. "It's my ex-friends that are the problem."

Tommy has to pull him close and tight after that. It's a strange feeling, being smaller than his partner. It's Adam though, which makes it not only okay but fucking awesome. Adam bends his head and they kiss, long and slow, with teeth and tongues, until Tommy's got a leg hooked around one of Adam's, half-riding his thigh. Adam drags his mouth over Tommy's jaw, sucking and licking, setting off sparks that have Tommy leaning back, baring his neck, wanting more and more, until it's too far back and he almost falls over.

"Oh my god, don't do that." Grabbing for Tommy, Adam almost stumbles and falls himself as they both start to lose their balance. Adam looks at him wide-eyed.

"Bed," Tommy suggests. Then, when he sees Adam get _that_ look in his eyes, the one that doesn't ever bode well for whoever he's aiming it at, he adds, "And if you carry me, I'll still kick you in the balls."

"Counterproductive much?" Adam says, and they're both smiling and touching each other as they take the few steps over to the bed.

It's a queen. Big enough for Tommy when he's by himself, but not really big enough when you add Adam. "Cozy," Tommy murmurs, as he parts his legs and encourages Adam to lie between them, to lie on top of him. 

Adam's heavy, a warm weight that presses Tommy into the mattress. "I shouldn't," Adam says.

"Fuck that," Tommy replies, breathing deeply. "You totally should." What he can't tell Adam is that he has no idea why it feels so damn good and not claustrophobic, why being covered by Adam sends shivers of need through him. But, you know _fuck it_ , he'll have time to figure that shit out later. Instead, he moves his head, sucks lightly on the skin at the corner of Adam's jaw, just below his ear, slides his hands up beneath Adam's t-shirt.

He can feel Adam hold himself rigid, can feel him waiting. He knows from far too many late night half-drunk conversations how difficult it is for Adam to put his body in someone else's hands, how he expects to be shot down for being more than soft skin over muscle and bone. The bitch of it is that the only way to make Adam relax is for Tommy to talk. 

"I fucking like this," Tommy says, and he wraps his legs around Adam's, holding him there. "You make me feel safe. Always have." He runs his hands over Adam's sides, over skin that feels like velvet beneath his callouses. "Don't fucking try to change for me, and I'll be happy." 

When Adam relaxes, Tommy nips at the skin of his neck, pushes up and rolls his hips against Adam's dick. "You," he says, because he's out of words and he fucking needs Adam to take it from here.

And, thank fuck, Adam gets the message, understands what Tommy means and doesn't ask a thousand questions or fucking wait for Tommy to get with some program that's never been explained. 

"You," Adam says into Tommy's hair. "You," he repeats on Tommy's forehead, drags onto his collarbone, sucks into a nipple, bites into the curve of his hipbone. "You," and "You," and "You," until it's branded onto Tommy's body, and he's writhing and pulling at Adam, needing to touch him, wanting to feel that wonderful weight again.

Adam catches Tommy's gaze, holds it as he crawls up Tommy's body, his dick a damp, aching slide over Tommy's leg and hip and belly. He balances above Tommy on his elbows and knees, then lowers his hips and his head. "You," Adam breathes into Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's response is to open himself to Adam. He flattens his feet on the bed, arches his back, and grinds their dicks together. It's too dry at first, almost painful in its dragging intensity, in the heat and need that it sends through Tommy. Then the damp slick from the heads of their dicks turns it into something that Tommy's never known before.

He's looking into Adam's eyes, an ache growing in the back of his throat, tingling need arcing through him from Adam's hands and mouth and skin to Tommy's mouth and dick and balls. He arches back, thrusts up, and just about fucking bites through his tongue not to call out Adam's name as he comes. 

"Oh fuck, Tommy," Adam groans as he circles his hips, sending another shock through Tommy's dick as his hipbone catches on the head.

Tommy can't do anything but hold Adam, kiss him, and moan through the almost painful sensations as Adam presses into him, rubs against him, shivers and shakes as he stripes Tommy's chest and belly with his own release. 

Adam collapses on top of him after that, and Tommy kisses him to shut him up, to stop him from saying anything, from making promises they haven't been together long enough to make without breaking. It doesn't work though, because Adam rolls them over and pulls Tommy until he's curled up against Adam and then pulls the covers on top of them.

"Your head," Adam says, kissing Tommy's hairline just above the stitches.

"Is just fucking fine, thank you very much," Tommy says. "Now shut up and let me enjoy this."

Adam's laugh makes Tommy smile and kiss him again, slow and lazy this time with just a lick of tongue. Then they settle down again. Adam talks quietly, about the tour and what needs to be done and what they'll have to face when they go back to the world, because his brain is kicking back into gear and that means he just can't fucking shut up.

His eyes closed, Tommy focuses on the rhythm of Adam's voice. He's wet and sticky, and definitely needs a shower sooner rather than later, but right now, he's feeling pretty fucking awesome and so not ready to move away from this warm, safe space.


End file.
